The Incredible Banker Read online

  The questioning look in his eyes didn't encourage the four men to volunteer any introductions.

  'Mr Sarup?' One of them broke the silence.

  'Yes.' The quizzical look persisted.

  'Mr Sarup, do you mind if we just step in and talk to you.'

  Deepak was irritated. 'What the hell? These guys come to my house, want to talk to me and won't tell me who they are?' he wondered.

  'Sure, but I would appreciate if you gentlemen first introduce yourselves, tell me what you want and then come inside.'

  'Oh, I am so sorry, Mr Sarup.' When one of the four men said this, Deepak smiled. So this was not intentional. They genuinely forgot to introduce themselves.

  'Mr Sarup, my name is Thakurta...Partha Thakurta,' one of the men introduced himself.

  'Ok,' said Deepak, still confused. That name didn't mean anything to him.

  'I am from the special projects cell of the CBI.' The word 'CBI' slightly shocked Deepak. Why would CBI come to his doorstep? He was suddenly worked up but kept his calm.

  'Can I see your IDs please?' he asked the men.

  The four men patiently showed their IDs to Deepak and waited till he finished checking them. The three men in jackets were from the CBI while the fourth was an inspector with the local police who had just accompanied them in case they needed any help. Why would the CBI come looking for him? Why would a senior cop accompany them? Sounded a bit eerie. He was now sure that they would have backup outside the building, on the road. But why would they do this ? He was no criminal. In any case he was about to find out.

  He stepped away from the door, and led them inside. 'Please come in.' All of them came inside and made themselves comfortable on the living-room couch.

  'What can I do for you, Mr Thakurta?' asked Deepak.

  'Mr Sarup, we are here to talk to you about a case we have been investigating.'

  'Ok...,' the drag in Deepak's voice gave an impression that he had no clue what they were talking about. 'So?'

  'We believe that you may have all the information, Mr Sarup,' this oxymoronic statement from Thakurta stumped Deepak.

  'Sorry?' Deepak didn't like his tone. The look on Deepak's face turned aggressive. 'I will give you whatever information I have. But as of now I am completely clueless on what you are referring to.'

  'Do you know somebody by the name "Francis" ?' asked Thakurta, with a straight face.

  Deepak thought for a while and responded, 'No, I do not know anybody by this name. In fact, I don't know anyone you might have an interest in.'

  'Mr Sarup, it will be nice if you just give us the answers to the questions we ask. If there is any interpretation that we need you to do, we will tell you. I am asking you again if you know anyone who goes by the name Francis,' Thakurta paused in his sarcastic rebuttal for a couple of seconds before he added, 'irrespective of whether we might have an interest in him or not.'

  'No,' Deepak swiftly replied.

  'Are you sure, Mr Sarup?'

  'Yes, absolutely!' Deepak didn't have any friend named Francis and he had never worked with any such person.

  'Ok, then maybe you would tell us what this is about.' Thakurta took out a plastic cover and showed it to him.

  'What are we trying to dig out here, Mr Thakurta?' Deepak was confused, wondering what was going on. Deepak took the plastic bag from him and looked at it. He did not know what to say, nor did he understand the relevance. What Thakurta showed him was a unique piece. The colour was so distinct. So different from the rest. There was no way he was going to forget that exquisite piece.

  The look on his face gave it all away.

  'Hmm...so I can safely assume that you know what this is ? Maybe you could explain?' Thakurta continued.

  'I will, Mr Thakurta. But how did this come to you? And why is it sealed the way it is?'

  In response, Thakurta just rolled his eyes once and then fixed his sight directly on Deepak. 'Out with it Mr Sarup,' he said, a bit firmly this time.

  'I will tell you the entire story. But before that you need to tell me what this is all about. How did you get this?'

  Thakurta was a CBI inspector. He had dealt with criminals all his life. When criminals think they can outsmart the cops, invariably they crumble. There was no need for pressure tactics or torture. It was just a mind game.

  'Ok, Mr Sarup. But remember, today I have all the time in the world. I will leave from here only after I have gathered all the information that I want.' 'Hmm....'

  'Have you heard of Ranibodli...the massacre which took place a few months ago...in October?' Thakurta began his story with another question.

  'The same one where over fifty policemen were ambushed. I read about it in the papers,' Deepak answered.

  'Not ambushed, Mr Sarup,' suddenly Thakurta raised his voice. 'Murder! It was cold-blooded murder of fifty-five policemen in a school compound. It was a heinous crime committed by a bunch of jerks supported by well-educated people in big cities.'

  'Yes, I remember,' said Deepak, though he didn't understand the relevance of the last part about 'well-educated people in big cities'.

  'In that attack, all the bodies except one were identified. The identified bodies were all of policemen. Fifty-five bodies at last count. They were all buried with full state honours. However, what people don't know is that there was a fifth-sixth body, which has not been identified till now. It's kept in the Sambalpur state morgue, pending identification.'

  'What does it have to do with me?' Deepak was getting nervous now. Till now Deepak was under the impression that it was something routine. It was now becoming clear to him that this was a serious investigation, something which he had no clue about. Thakurta talking about killings and dead bodies scared him.

  'It has, Mr Sarup...it has. Else we would not be wasting our time here. The person whose body has been recovered we suspect to be the one against whom there are a number of cases in Chhattisgarh and he might be one of the most wanted Maoist leaders in Dantewade. The right hand man of Charu, the founder of the Maoist movement in the forests bordering Maharashtra and Andhra. No one has seen him before.'

  'What?' Deepak was extremely shocked. Words eluded him.

  'A body search conducted on him revealed a few things. We found a wallet on him, and in the wallet was a credit card.'

  'All right...'

  'In the name of Francis.'

  'What? Credit card in the name of Francis?' It suddenly struck Deepak. The events that had happened a few weeks flashed in front of his eyes.

  The mail from Saurabh Bhambani had hit him as he was running for a LRO (Long Range Oudook) presentation. LRO was a name given to strategic plan presentations. Prompted by the success of Standard Chartered Bank, GB2 was drawing up a three-year plan for all their businesses in India. This was Ronald's initiative and people at all levels in every team were involved. As it was an exercise driven at the senior-most level, it was very critical even from a personal growth perspective. Managers were being judged by their contribution to the LRO exercise. As Deepak was getting late for the LRO discussion, he did not wait to read it on his laptop, and instead decided to read it on his way to the conference room on his Blackberry.

  It was a mail which Saurabh had forwarded to him with a note saying 'please respond'. In fact the mail was a request from the law enforcers asking for some details of a particular credit card and Saurabh had diligently forwarded the same to Deepak, as it was a Mumbai-based card.

  'Doesn't Saurabh know that these mails are responded to by the operations team,' he said to himself as he pressed the 'forward' button and sent it to the operations team based out of Chennai. The police had asked for a number of details which included a copy of application form, the photograph given by the customer while applying for the credit card, address on record, statements for the past twelve months, payment record for the last twelve months, details of cash transactions made in the account, etc. They had even asked for details of the sales agent who had sourced the application and who had appro
ved the card. It was a fairly exhaustive request, not a routine questionaire. However, he was in the LRO frame of mind and had quietly forwarded the mail to his operations unit.

  And now, sitting in front of CBI officer Mr Thakurta, he recalled that the mail related to one Mr Francis. Probably it was the same Francis – Francis D'Silva. What was the connection? Why was the CBI at his doorstep? Had he knowingly or inadvertently done something which had brought him under the scanner? What should he do? Should he call up the bank and ask for help, or should he play along and see how he could get out of this spot? There was no point hiding information. As far as he knew, he had done no wrong.

  A maze of thoughts engulfed him when the booming voice of Thakurta brought him back to reality. 'So, Mr Sarup, are you listening to me?'

  'Yes, of course....'

  'As I was telling you, we found the card during the search of the unidentified body. A platinum credit card in the name of Francis D'Silva. The card has been issued by your bank.'

  'Yes. Wasn't this the same card about which CBI had sought some information from us some time back? I remember the mail with the information request.'

  'Mr Sarup, you are right. This is the same card.'

  'I remember I had asked our operations team to provide all the information to you. Hope they did?'

  'Yes, yes. Your bank responded extremely promptly. When we saw the information provided by your bank, we discovered some inconsistencies in the entire data.'

  'Inconsistencies ? What kind of inconsistencies ? If you so require, we can provide all the clarifications that you might need,' Deepak offered.

  'Francis's platinum card had a credit limit of three lakh,' said Thakurta and paused. 'Mr Sarup, a person is killed in a gun battle in RaniBodli in Dantewada...and guess what? We find a three lakh limit credit card on him. It is very unlikely, Mr Sarup, that anyone within miles of Dantewada will have the income to justify a credit limit of three lakh rupees.'

  'I understand. One needs to have an income of around a-lakh-and-half a month to justify a limit of three lakh.'

  'Yes, so you better have an explanation of how a person living in RaniBodli has a credit limit of three lakh,' Thakurta said.

  'I am not too sure I would be able to tell you anything right away. I do not keep track of all credit card customers. It is physically impossible for me to do so.'

  'But Francis D'Silva is not 'anyone', Mr Sarup.' The drag when he said 'anyone' was quite evident. 'You know him personally.' He added.

  'What do you mean?'

  'After what I showed you just now, I was hoping you would not be as surprised as you are feigning to be. However, I must say I am bit amazed at your stance. But that's fine. Hold your comments till you hear the entire story.'

  'Please believe me...I will tell you whatever I know about this. As of now I have absolutely no idea. If you give me some time, I will even check out all the application details and come back to you with a solid reason behind how a three-lakh credit limit was given, if that's all that you want.' Not that Sarup had much choice.

  Thakurta was not interested in his appeals. He continued, 'Even though we recovered a credit card with the name Francis from his wallet, we were quite surprised to see that this gentleman had a sacred thread around his chest. A sacred thread is what the Hindus wear -"the janeu". Was the deceased a Christian named Francis? Or was he a Hindu with the credit card in a Christian name? Either of which is concerning. The former indicates the growing clout of Christian separatists taking advantage of the Maoist insurgency and creating chaos in the region while the latter indicates serious fraud percolating into the Maoist camps, which is a larger cause of worry. In either case, it is important to know the identity of the killed person. Is he Francis or is he someone else? We need to quickly find out.'

  'And how do I come into the picture?'

  'Hold on Mr Sarup. Let me finish,' and Thakurta stopped, allowing Deepak time to wipe the sweat from his forehead. 'And now on to the packet that you are holding in your hand. It is very unlikely that something like that would be found with someone living and working in the jungles of Dhauli. Do you recognize that, Mr Sarup?' He waited

  'Not too sure. I have seen pieces like this before'

  'Mr Sarup. On investigating, we found that this is something which has been bought by and paid for using your personal credit card.'

  'How can you be so sure of that? There could be multiple pieces of the same model,' argued Deepak.

  'Deepak, do we all look like idiots to you? Three of us will not come to you on a hunch.' This was the first sign of aggression from Thakurta, who had kept his cool till then.

  'We have evidence to prove that this was something you had bought on 13 January 2009, in Interlaken. I am sure you know that every Omega watch has a unique number engraved below its left strap hinge. The same number is mentioned in your purchase receipt and in the information held with the company. This unique number helps in settling warranty claims and issues related to servicing. It's a standard practice followed by Omega. When we found this watch on the body, it surprised us no end. We thought we had hit a dead end until we figured this bit about the serial number. With support from the Swiss authorities we found out that this watch was sold at the store at Interlaken. We sent our officers to Interlaken who were able to establish that this watch with the corresponding serial number was bought by you,' and then he paused. 'Mr Sarup, you had bought this watch from Time Out International in Interlaken. We have foolproof evidence. This is not a hunch.'

  'What? Is this the same watch?' Deepak could not believe what he was hearing. The referee, the guy who he thought was a close friend, the person whom he and Savitha had gifted an Omega watch, for all his help, was a Naxalite. A Maoist leader. A rebel. His heart sank. It seemed as if someone had pulled the rug from under his feet. 'It can't be. This cannot be true...this cannot be true,' he muttered.

  'Mr Sarup, this is true. You paid for this purchase through your credit card. We even have a copy of the charge slip. Would you want to see it?'

  'No, it's fine.'

  'Now would you want to tell us more about it, Mr Sarup? What do you know and how much do you know about this guy? What is your part in this entire movement? How are you involved in this?' This time Thakurta's voice was even more threatening. Deepak got worried.

  'Couldn't it be that someone stole the watch from him, or possibly he sold it to someone? I know he was in some kind of financial trouble. His family was going through stress. His sister had come back from her husband's house because they could not pay the dowry that was demanded. Maybe to make ends meet, he sold it. And your Francis could be the guy he sold it to.'

  'Maybe...,' Thakurta looked at the other investigator. 'File please.' He then turned to Deepak and said, 'Mr Sarup, I take your point. We have considered this aspect too.' And he handed a sheet to Deepak. "This has pictures of the deceased. While these are not clear, it's is not too difficult to identify the person. You may want to take a closer look.'

  Deepak took the pictures from Thakurta. Without taking his eyes off Thakurta, he pulled out the document from the envelope. The moment he took it out, his face went pale as if blood had drained from his cheeks. Sweat broke out on his forehead and started streaming down from his eyebrows to the corner of his eyes.

  Was it because he was seeing a badly mutilated body for the first time, or was it because he knew the person in the picture? He did not say. Was this some set-up? And finally when words escaped his mouth, Thakurta heard him whisper, "This is Anaka...my friend Anakadundhubi...the referee.'

  14 December 2009

  The Morning After Mumbai

  MONDAY morning, at 5.30 a.m. Ronalds phone rang. He had just got out of bed. Whenever the phone rang at that hour, it always made him nervous. He believed a call at an unearthly hour invariably meant bad news.

  'Mansi, what happened? Is everything ok?' he asked the caller.

  'Ronald, I just got a call from The Times of India. They are carrying a very sensiti
ve news item. I am shocked that they didn't even bother to inform us earlier. Now after today's edition has been printed and dispatched, they called me to let me know.' Mansi, the head of public affairs for GB2, was nervous as hell. The shiver in her voice made Ronald even more worried.

  'What is it about, Mansi?'

  'Ronald, do you have access to the internet at home?'

  'Yes, I thought we left the Stone Age way behind,' Ronald was being sarcastic in the face of a crisis.

  'Why can't this idiot reply straight and keep his smart comments to himself? thought Mansi. 'Can you log in to The Times of India website? This is front page news in the national edition.'

  'What is it about, Mansi? You are making me nervous.'

  'Ronald, I would rather have you see it first.'

  'Ok, wait,' said Ronald as lie went to his table and opened the laptop. 'Tell me the URL.'

  'www.timesofindia.com', Mansi replied.

  And there it was...'DANGEROUS NAXALITE HELD IN MUMBAI – sensitive data recovered from residence of the senior executive of Greater Boston Global Bank.'

  Ronald's eyes popped out when he saw that. He didn't know what hit him. He started reading through the article.

  'What the fuck?' muttered Ronald as he moved from the first paragraph to the second.

  'In a clear pointer to growing urbanisation of the Naxalite movement, early Sunday afternoon Deepak Sarup, a senior manager with the Greater Boston Global Bank (GB2), was arrested from his Chembur residence. Deepak has been accused of assisting the Naxalite movement in Central India spread its tentacles in Mumbai. Sensitive data regarding possible terror attacks by the Naxals in Mumbai were recovered from a laptop seized from his residence.

  'What stated off as a rural uprising in 1967 in a distant village of Naxalbari (from where the term Naxalite movement derives its name) resonated on Sunday in Chembur, an up-market suburb in Mumbai. It is now clear that this movement is no longer restricted to the tribal villages of West Bengal, Orissa, Chhattisgarh and Andhra Pradesh. It's now made its way to the up-market towns and holds in its talons the rich and the famous. Naxal sympathisers are no longer based in villages. Now they are educated, sophisticated and city-bred.